


Somebody's Watching Me

by jendavis



Series: Some Hardison/Eliot Stories [2]
Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 11:29:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7756033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sophie's bored on the flight back.  A quick little companion story/ sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/242007">Someday We'll Know</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somebody's Watching Me

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, Kim, for the inspiration! :D

Sophie picks up the magazine at the airport and flips through it on the plane. This season's trends look to be fairly dull as far as New York goes, but there are a few bright spots coming out of Spain and Brazil that catch her eye easily enough.

It's not until hour three of the flight that, desperate for anything to do, she starts going through page by page, attempting to read the articles. 

The article titled "How to Kick Ass Without Kissing Ass" is the usual humdrum, watered down affirmative garbage, with just a few overused social engineering ploys that honestly, most women would have encountered by the time they've made it into the target market for this kind of magazine anyway. 

She's always had a secret soft spot for the quizzes, though. This one's asking "Is He Into You? Or Just In the Room?"

Nathan's dozing over his tablet next to her, and yeah, she knows she already has this one figured out- honestly, it all boils down to the fact that he _hasn't_ yet- but they've got another hour and a half before they're due to land in Miami.

\---

_1\. Does he compliment your appearance?_

\--- 

Often, she decides, if a bit awkwardly. 

Perhaps she's being unfair, however. Nathan's lines are never as bad as, say, Hardison's had been this morning, in the hotel lobby. 

"Looking good, man," he'd told Eliot, clapping him on the shoulder as he'd joined them in the elevator, and earning an irritated, suspicious look for his troubles. 

Eliot had had every right to be. There'd been no hint of the suave investment banker he'd been playing at the gala the evening before. The suit had been replaced by his usual flannel and sweatshirt combination, the black eye he'd gotten himself last night had had time to flourish, and his hair had been an absolute mess.

"What?" Alec had protested under the glare. "You look like _you_ again, is all."

Eliot had shaken his head and stabbed at the button for the ground floor. "Whatever, dude."

Hardison had shrugged, grinning and started watching the numbers shrink as they'd ridden down. "The bruises really bring out your eyes." 

Neither of them had looked at the other for the next fourteen floors. 

\--- 

_2\. Does he listen to what you say and remember it, even the tiny, inconsequential details?_

\--- 

No. Nathan does not, or at least never accurately. He can't even get half of the places they'd been right, most of the time.

She glances up as the stewardess comes around offering coffee. Past her, on the other side of the aisle, Parker is planted against the window, trying to see the ground. Hardison's in the middle, sleeping through the movie he'd cued up on his tablet. 

At this point it seems to be on just to give Eliot something to stare at. He looks like he's half asleep as well, but his fingers keep flexing. The knuckles on his right hand are scraped raw. 

The only reason they're not in worse shape is that Hardison had remembered Eliot's story about some job he'd pulled in Belfast, three years before any of them had met. Something about stealing a guard's phone, leaving it in a corner of a hallway with the video chat running. Whatever the case- Hardison had mostly babbled about a kid on the street with a bicycle, as far as she'd been able to tell- it had been enough to get Eliot and Parker out through the tricky blind corridor past one guard instead of seven.

It's a small thing, not really worth mentioning on its own. The team had pulled through, just like they always do. But it had been fortuitous. 

She tears her eyes back to her own page the moment Eliot shifts in his seat, and reads the next question. 

\--- 

_3\. Does he seek you out just to talk?_

\--- 

Nathan tries, occasionally, but he's so _Nathan_ that it comes out all stilted when he does. 

Not that she expects any less. He's not _Hardison_ after all, who would- and who _does_ \- strike up inane conversations with excruciating regularity with anyone who has the misfortune of being within auditory range. 

But it's really the next question that bears some thought, anyway.

\--- 

_4\. Does he act differently around you than he does around other people?_

\--- 

Well, yes, Nathan does, quite obviously, and it would be disingenuous to pretend that she hasn't goaded, capitalized upon, and encouraged that behavior. Not that it's been a deliberate goal of hers, but it's there. 

It's the way he behaves around her when she's _not_ doing any of those things that, honestly, makes her think of him as an equal. Nathan is good at what he does, but she can tell when he's playing her. By the same token, though, she knows when he's _not_. And it's happening less and less, these days. 

Up until now, she hasn't really put any thought into how their continued association and acquaintance has changed any one member of the team, but now it's got her attention. 

Of the five of them, Parker's the one whose attempts have been the most noticeable, most usually because she fluctuates so often, so drastically and unpredictably. She runs hot and cold and there are weeks where she goes entirely flat, and Sophie hasn't been able to predict when or how she'll do it. 

It used to be infuriating. It's becoming strangely comforting. 

Eliot is the least changeable among them. He'd seemed to have come onto the team having decided who he was, who he wanted to be, and how he had to go about _being_ it. It doesn't mean he's not changing. Just that he's the most guarded about showing it. 

Hardison, though, he's... 

He's another matter entirely.

He still cracks wise and _talks_ , almost all of the time. Sophie knows that she's the one that had taken him the longest to warm up to; it's only been the past few months that he's gotten comfortable barraging her with nonsense to the extent that he does. He tosses barbs back with Nate in a game of one-upmanship that will probably never end; that hasn't changed at all. And he keeps up a white-noise litany of chatter when Parker's around and doesn't expect her to answer him. 

There are times, though, when he goes quiet. And most of those times, it's when he's around Eliot. 

He'd been a little terrified of Eliot at first, but it had downgraded, early on, to the point where he'd been merely wary of his bluster. She can't quite pinpoint the moment when they'd grown comfortable enough around each other that Hardison had gotten over it, but given the amount of bickering the two were capable of lately, there'd been one. 

She _might_ have a bead on when she'd first noticed that the two of them had found an even keel, though she's not sure it hadn't been there already. 

Taking down the dirty fight promoter hadn't been the first time Eliot had come out of a job injured. But thanks to a canceled flight out of Nebraska, it had been the first time they'd all spent in any proximity to one another once the job was done. 

She'd stopped by Eliot's room to see if he wanted or needed anything from the drug store, but it had been Hardison who'd answered. His laptop had been open on the table by the window; Eliot had been on the couch with one ice pack on his torso and another wedged against his temple. Not sleeping, but not quite awake, either. There'd been a baseball game on the screen, sound off. 

"He's sleeping," Hardison had said, voice quiet.

"No I ain't," Eliot had argued, not as forcefully as he'd perhaps thought he'd managed, but Hardison had glanced back at him, startled.

"You should be," Sophie had told him, from the doorway, before turning to Hardison. "And perhaps, you should let him?"

"Just finishing the cleanup," Hardison had shrugged, but his serious expression had loosened as he'd looked back at the couch. "I could head out, get out of your hair."

"It's fine," Eliot had grumbled. "Just. Go back to whatever it was you were doin'."

Eliot hadn't opened his eyes once during the interchange. If he had, he might've noticed the pleased grin that had crossed Hardison's face. 

At the time, she'd attributed it to his having won some small fight with her. Now, though...

The quiz, she's starting to realize, is becoming much more interesting than it had been when she'd been taking it for herself. She can't help grinning as she reads the last question.

\--- 

_5\. Does his body language point towards you?_.

\--- 

Nathan holds himself so carefully when he's around her that it's almost laughable. He's so _cautious_ that it's infuriating, but she's not blind. His rigidness melts, freezes again, and thaws, each time a little more. Some days, she wants to strangle him over it, just to make him still again. Other days, he cracks a grin through the ice and she's sixteen years old again and wants to strangle herself for _seeing_ it.

Generally, though, body language the hardest tell to notice when it's being directed at you. That's why she's so careful about it. Sometimes you want the mark to sense it immediately. Other jobs, you want them to come around to the realization slowly. 

She's got no idea if Eliot's noticed yet, the way he becomes the center of Hardison's orbit whenever they're in the same room. She wonders if _Hardison_ has, for that matter. But she's noticed it, more and more often, lately. 

Hardison's always angled towards him, even when he's focused on his computers. He's got a tendency to keep him in his peripheral vision that's starting to look a lot less like wariness and a little more like interest. And he touches him more than is necessary. 

The only reason she knows _that_ is that she's seen how Eliot reacts, every single time. A little annoyed, a little confused. 

Only he never backs away out of range.

Across the way, Hardison's sleeping sprawl has gradually shoved past his armrests, and Eliot- who has the distinction of being the second most standoffish human being she's ever met, behind Parker- doesn't seem to have any qualms about it, not at all. 

The movie must be awfully dull; Eliot's eyes are at half-mast, his hands are open and easy. He hasn't shifted his lower half away from Hardison's encroaching leg, though that will be the first thing to happen- probably quite decidedly so- when either of them wake up.

She's intensely curious, now, to see what happens once it does. Maybe not quite enough to slip the magazine into Eliot's bag as they disembark, however tempting the thought may be.

Just enough to _consider_ it.


End file.
